


Five Times Ought to Do It

by MrsRen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, So to say, Time Travel, five times trope, from the outside looking in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-11 01:22:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16466009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRen/pseuds/MrsRen
Summary: Cast back in time to learn a lesson that neither of them understand, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy are about to uncover more about the other than they ever imagined. Plus, there's the pesky detail of getting back to 1998.





	Five Times Ought to Do It

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dramione Fanfiction Writers Facebook group, for their Halloween Fest. As you can see, my prompt clearly has nothing to do with the holiday. No, the scary part what waiting for a prompt to be drawn from me. I don’t hate it, but this was something that met wall after wall, and really, it was meant to be six parts, but I couldn’t finish it.
> 
>  
> 
> So for now, this is just a drabble that I’m very likely to expand to include the other five parts. It’s rated M for a second hand account of torture.
> 
>  
> 
> Prompt: time travel.

 

 

Chewing her bottom lip fiercely to stay out of the argument, Hermione could feel her self control slipping. Potions had never been her favorite class to begin with, but her dislike for it had only grown since the beginning of their ‘eighth’ year, and if Ginny started a fight with the Slytherins one more time - 

 

The Head Girl knew what she should do. She should rise from her seat, twirling her vine wand between her fingers perhaps, and put an end to the nonsense Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy had dragged the room into. Professor Slughorn was conveniently absent, but had he been there, she still wasn’t sure he would have handled it as well as he should. 

 

It was a Bat Bogey Hex, cast by the fiery redheaded girl of course, that made Hermione lunge from her seat. Malfoy cast a protego, the hex slamming against an invisible shield, and his lips curved into a sneer. “Fuck off, Weasley.” He grumbled. 

 

“Considering you’re someone that shouldn’t be here -” Ginny launched into her tirade, and it was the same one she’d been saying for months. Of how Malfoy ought to have been sentenced to Azkaban for his part in the war, for letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts, and far below the surface, Hermione knew Ginny needed someone to blame for Fred’s death. 

 

“Stop!” Hermione yelled, pushing her way between the two, and mistakenly brushing her fingers against the blond’s chest through his Slytherin robes. 

 

He grimaced, thin strands of his hair falling into his eyes. “Keep your filthy hands to yourself.” Malfoy spoke under his breath, not flinching away from the sharp glare she shot his way. 

 

No, he looked like he was looking for a fight, but the heavy weight of her enamel pin reminded her that she wouldn’t be the one to give him the thorough arse kicking he deserved. “Enough is enough.” Hermione told Ginny, prepared to disarm the Gryffindor is she truly needed to. “The war is over.” 

 

Ginny’s eyes widened, her lip curling in disgust. “You might be willing to forget what’s happened, Hermione, but I assure you that most of us have not.” Hermione had glanced over her shoulder at Malfoy, only to make sure he wasn’t about to cast a curse at her back, and it was an amateur mistake. 

 

Too close to recognize the threat was in front of her, rather than behind, she didn’t notice Ginny’s wand work until a loud “ _ Locomotor Hermione!”  _ cut through the air of the classroom. Only it wasn’t meant to hit Malfoy at all, rather it was her. There was a white hot sensation against her chest as she stumbled backward, her eyes wide with the realization of why exactly the world was growing dimmer around the edges. 

 

A hand braced against her right shoulder, fingers digging into her skin, and there was no time to make sure they let go.

* * *

 

She landed on him, her elbow buried in his ribcage, and their heads knocking together. “What the fuck,” he groaned, cupping the back of his head, and she scrambled off of him. 

 

Now two feet from him, and her legs improperly parted - she was too shocked to concern herself with prosperity right now -, Hermione stared at Malfoy. “This is bad.” She murmured, climbing to her feet. Tossing her robes on the floor of corridor she had never seen in Hogwarts, she fished the time turner out of her shirt by the thin, golden chain. 

 

“Granger?” His voice was groggy as he sat against the wall. “Your chest - no, not that, you idiot. Your chest is burnt.” 

 

Looking down once more, Hermione noted the burnt flesh. The pain hadn’t set it due to shock, but she nodded slowly. “It was the time turner.” Buttoning her oxford over the wound, she looked around the corridor once more. “Where are we?” 

 

Malfoy’s features darkened as he took in the corridor, his eyes flicking from the lit candle in the middle of the wall to the portrait across from it. “What have you done?” He snarled, glaring when she fell silent, only staring at the time turner in her hands. “Granger, we’re in Malfoy Manor.” He told her, rising to his feet. 

 

“When are we?” Hermione whispered under her breath, repeating herself, but louder this time when he stared at her. “It was the time turner, and the locomotor spell. I have no idea how far we’ve gone back. Or how a spell as simple as that, even combined with the destruction of the time turner could have caused  _ this. _ ” 

 

“Sometime in the last ten years, given that portrait was hung when I was nine years old.” He muttered, grabbing her by the elbow and hauling her down the corridor. “We’ll find father - what are you doing now, Granger?” 

 

Hermione had flattened herself against the wall, and her heart was beating out of rhythm. “If they see me, and it’s during a time that..You-Know-Who is here, I’ll be killed for sure.” She forced the words out, the reality of how well and truly screwed they could be finally sinking in. “Malfoy, we need to get out of here, not look for your father.” 

 

“Oh, yes, because my father is such a bastard that he wouldn’t help me!” He snapped, dragging her down the corridor and ignoring her protests. 

 

“I didn’t say that,” she hissed, digging her fingernails into his forearm, “I said that I would be killed. Considering I don’t know the way out of here, I would need you to come with me.” Hermione was panting, her chest rising and falling with each shaky breath, and she bumped into the back of him when he finally stopped moving. “Malfoy?” 

 

He whirled around, crushing her to his chest - which he made a sound of distaste over -, and tucking her head below his chin. “We won’t need to worry about anyone seeing us; they didn’t realize I was here.” 

 

Wrestling her way free of him, Hermione stumbled around him, and then she would have sworn her heart stopped in her chest. “Oh, my Gods.” She choked, the air heavy with the scent of blood, metallic, and even if she left this place, she was sure the smell would cling to her clothes. “What did they do to you?” Her voice was weak, and she stepped forward. 

 

For what, she didn’t know. None of them could see her, and even if she could stop the vicious whipping that had happened to Draco Malfoy in the past, the Dark Lord would surely notice her then. The cruel look he gave through slitted eyes, just as red as the blood that was trickling across the floor, sinking into the grout of the fine porcelain, made her bones rattle. 

 

His voice was guttural from behind her. “It never took much to displease the Dark Lord.” Malfoy’s hand settled on her shoulder, and he tugged her gently backward. “We have to go, Granger.” 

 

She nodded, but tearing her eyes away from the sight in front of her was impossible. The other Malfoy - the past Malfoy - laid in the floor fully nude, red spilling from the gashes Fenrir Greyback had made. The transformed werewolf crouched over his, his claws razors sharps and he ran them down Malfoy’s back. 

 

And then Yaxley would whip him across the ribbons carved into his skin, screaming for the boy to start over if he lost count of the lashes. “Draco..” She gasped, her chest seizing, and she fumbled for her wand. Before he could stop her, she’d plucked her wand from her pocket, and with all of the rage she’d never known she’d had, she cast “ _ Avada Kedavra!”  _

 

There was a swift green light that streaked across the room, but it missed. Hermione realized she’d been too wrapped up in her own rage to properly aim, and no one paid her any mind. None of the other side noticed her, nor the present Malfoy dragging her back by locking his arms around her waist, taking her wand from her. “Granger, we need to go before you get us caught.” He spoke from behind gritted teeth, and he didn’t say anything of how she’d successfully cast the worst unforgivable at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> A friendly reminder that feedback makes the world go round.


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